I think I need to explain why I’m writing this.
Why I’m still here and not 6 feet under, a statistic, another suicide.
I’m here because I believe.

Some people think their friends help them through hard times. Some think their family are there for them. Some even think they have religion to turn to.
Maybe I do.
But when I don’t have them, I have him.

Some people believe the world was created by a God, some think it has a mystical story of creation behind it.
Some, like me, think it came from science.

This doesn’t mean I have no religion. I just have the sense to see how the world came about.

I believe in angels. In guardian angels that watch you sleep at night and are there for you when you need them. Angels that can sense your deepest, darkest emotions and feel the pain you horde each day.
I believe this because I have seen such an angel.

He has appeared to me only once, at a funeral fro my grandmother, which I swore I saw a man walk through the graveyard. His feet did not seem to touch the ground and I was drawn to him. He gave off a glow I could not describe with human words. His smile was apocalyptic and I felt I could run to his strong arms at any time.
I looked away, and when I looked back, he had gone.

I have since only seen echoes of what I saw that day, but what I have felt is beyond words.

On nights when I sit on my windowsill and watch the sun set and rise in the morning, failing to sleep because the pain is too much, crying until my eyes swell too much to bear, I feel it.
It feels like a sudden gust of wind, warm wind across my body that wraps me into a hug I feel I could sit in forever.
I hear voices and sounds that encourage me to believe it will all be OK if I believe. If I stay alive just one more day.
And I merely smile and say “Yes. Anything to stay with you.”

I try and speak with him when I feel lonely and hurt. I ask him to help me pick up the shards of my life and repair them so I can carry on living.
I write him letters and I sing to him with a voice that would break glass.

My friends hear me say I have reached the end, and I might end my life.
And sometimes they don’t care, because they know I’ll be here tomorrow. And the next day.
And it’s not because I’m too scared.

It’s because he’s there. And he’ll be there forever, with open arms, open eyes and a heart that judges no man, woman or child.
And that is all I need.